


The Romantic Poets of the Victorian Era

by Tafka



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafka/pseuds/Tafka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cadash isn't a romantic. She certainly will never sweep anyone off their feet, but she desperately wishes she could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Romantic Poets of the Victorian Era

“Seeker!” Cadash ran to catch up with Cassandra's long strides, hampered by her shorter legs and the weight of the armor she carried. It was still warm from the forge. Cassandra stopped with a soft “tsk,” and turned about, clearly displeased to have been interrupted in whatever business she was attending to. Perhaps this had been the wrong time. “I've made you a new armor.”

“Another? But you just made one before we went into the Fallow Mire. It still serves its purpose.”

“Yes,” she agreed readily, “but this one is superior. I have made it of an alloy of serpentstone and paragon's luster. It is very strong, resilient, it will hold up to the deadliest blows without bending or breaking. It suits you.” When Cassandra seemed about to protest, she continued, “Your current breastplate can be easily refitted for my own use. It won't go to waste.” 

Cassandra frowned slightly, “The Inquisition does not have so many resources that we can afford to make new plate at a whim.”

Swallowing her heart, Cadash nodded and forced a wan smile. “Of course not, Seeker Pentaghast. Just what is necessary.”

“It is... appreciated, though. Thank you.” Cassandra looked as though she might say more, but then spun on her heel and continued on her way.

“Well done, there,” came the low voice from the nearby fire pit. Cadash whirled around to find Varric barely concealing his amusement. “You know, if she'd been a Dwarven woman, she might've thought you were proposing marriage.”

Cadash didn't bother to hide her blush. She hadn't intended to be so forward. It didn't matter, however, the only person in Haven to understand her intentions was not the object of her affection. “Cassandra needed a new armor. That is all.”

“Of course.”

***

It hurt to be near her. It hurt to be apart from her more. It hurt to have her love by her side and to know that her feelings were not reciprocated. It hurt most of all to remember her words with every step they took. As they traveled in quiet along the familiar roads of the Hinterlands, they echoed through her head.

“I want someone who sweeps me off my feet.”   
“I want the ideal.” 

Cadash had no illusions about who she was, and she was certainly not the one Cassandra wanted. She was not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, and the ideas of flower bouquets and wooing by candlelight were foreign to her. She would rather see flowers growing in the dirt than to pick them, unless it was for a needed potion, of course. Candles were for reading by at night, or for illuminating the statues of blessed Andraste in chantries. Her knowledge of poetry was laughably slim. She couldn't fault her for her desires, though. Cassandra deserved to have her ideal, and deserved to be happy with someone else if Cadash could not fill the role.

She watched as Cassandra carefully wiped the blood from her blade, emerging as a victorious beacon of righteousness from yet another battle with the bandits that seemed to infest the area. A warm spring breeze ruffled the Seeker's short hair, and Cadash envied the wind with a sudden sharpness that alarmed her. She cast down her gaze, trying to pull her thoughts away from everything she could not have, and it fell upon one of the scattered books that had fallen from the pillaged caravan. The letters of the title glittered in the sun, “The Romantic Poets, Volume II.” 

Quickly, she reached out and pocketed the book, checking to make sure that none of her companions had seen.

***

Cadash waited for her in the clearing, her heart pounding in her chest. She wished she had thought to wear her armor, even though there was nothing more dangerous than a fennec in this area of the woods. Her light linen clothes left her feeling exposed outside of Skyhold's walls, and smaller, somehow. She turned the old book of poems over and over in her hands, so distracted that she almost didn't see Cassandra finally arriving. 

She regarded the book before offering it to her, weakly. Cassandra made no move to grab it. “Here,” she stepped closer to her, reaching her hand out farther, “I got this. For you. It is a gift for you, I mean.”

Cassandra's eyes passed over the gift, reading its title, even upside down. “A book of love poems?” She took it, turning it over and beginning to leaf through the pages.

“Yes.” She didn't know what else to say. She knew exactly what she had to say, but it broke her heart to say it. “I know you want the ideal, and you said that meant reading poetry, aloud, in a romantic setting.” She gestured to the glade they stood in, surrounded by gently bowing branches and small, flowering weeds. It had rained there, recently, and somehow that made everything seem greener and more alive. A small cluster of embrium grew near the center, ready to be plucked and turned into healing droughts. “I found a beautiful place to take you, and a book of poems, like you asked. But I can't...”

Cassandra looked up at her sharply, snapping the book closed. Cadash felt herself start to burn under her steely gaze. The Seeker said nothing, and the silence stretched between them.

Cadash breathed deeply, bracing herself to deliver her carefully prepared speech. “I cannot use another's words to charm you. I will not allow my voice to betray me in that way. I will not use the flowery language of poets. I can only speak the truth, as plain as it might be.”  
“You have fought by my side since the very beginning, and now I cannot imagine entering battle without you. It would be as if I fought without my shield, or my sword. But when I return home, and put my sword to rest, I do not feel bereft without it. Without you nearby, there is something missing in me. I want to keep you always within reach, even in the peaceful moments.” That sounded wrong to her ears, so she quickly corrected herself, “especially in the peaceful moments.”  
“I may not be your ideal, but I assure you that you are mine. Your will is the only thing stronger than your sword-arm. Your faith reflects and restores my own. Your loyalty makes me feel worthy of it. No sonnet I have read has praised the qualities I love in you.”  
“A proper Dwarven poet would compare your eyes to the beauty of polished agate, but it is not their color that makes your eyes beautiful, but the spirit I see within them. I cannot say that your hair is as soft as eiderdown, because I have never touched it.” Her hand reached out, unbidden, at that, but she quickly controlled herself and brought her clenched fists to her sides. “Nor can I say what your lips feel like against mine, for we have never kissed.”

She paused, then gestured weakly to the book. “I found this book of love poems. I read every one. None of them said what you mean to me. How could I read them to you, knowing they were lies?” There was a long moment of silence then. Cassandra regarded her with unreadable eyes. Cadash heard the wind whisper through the trees, and she thought that she could even hear Cassandra's breath. A sudden feeling of solitude and isolation washed over the Inquisitor, and she forced himself to look away. “I am sorry, Cassandra,” she said, “I cannot woo you as you desire. I am not your romantic hero.”

The quiet dragged on, and she began to think that she should just leave, having said her piece. Cassandra's voice, when it came, was soft in a way she had never heard before, “You composed love poetry... for me?”

She had not thought of it as poetry, it didn't even rhyme. She had just tried to express to her the nature of her love, in the best way she could manage. She would have said this aloud, but her words failed her, and she could only softly whisper her love's name.

Cassandra shook her head roughly, and closed the distance between them with two long strides. Taking the Inquisitor's face in her hands, she bent, bringing their lips together for their first kiss.

***

Cadash knocked softly on the door to Cassandra's quarters, even though it stood open already. She did not want to disturb her as she worked at the low table by the window. Cadash was pleased to see her working there, not just because she was always pleased to see her lover, but because the chairs sat low enough that she could give her a kiss without having to reach too high. 

Cassandra laid down her pen and turned from her work gladly, returning the kiss and then giving a few more in return. Cadash allowed herself to delight in the other woman's open expressions of tenderness for a moment before ruining the moment with a serious discussion.

“Do you remember, when we spoke... I mean, do you still...” the Inquisitor found herself stumbling over her words before regaining her composure. “I spoke to Josephine today, about the Sequester. She said that her connections can make it known among the clerics. Who it is that the Inquisition supports for Divine, I mean. That is to say, if you still wish for my support, you have it.”

A more serious look replaced the fond smile Cadash's kisses had left. “I do.”

“Then I will let Josephine know. She will put words in the right ears. I'm certain you will be made Divine.”

“Because of your influence?”

“No,” she spoke with all the conviction of her heart, “because you are the right choice.”

Cassandra smiled softly, and then said what they had previously left unspoken, “If I am made Divine, we cannot be together.”

She nodded in response. She raised one hand to brush over the side of Cassandra's face, unable to resist the urge to touch and hold. A small, sobbing sigh escaped her when the Seeker turned her face to place a kiss to the center of her palm. “We are together now, beloved,” she replied, “and will be for a while, yet.”

The benefit of having crafted Cassandra's armor with her own hands was that Cadash was easily able to find the straps and buckles without having to break their kiss. Eventually they would have to part, but for now she just wanted to lose herself in the illusion that their embrace would never end.

***

Codex Entry: Auheron the Poet

The rise of the Victorian Romantic poets followed the ascension of Divine Victoria, from whose reign they get their name. Most scholars agree that the movement began with the first folio published by Auheron the Poet in 9:43 Dragon. Not much is known for certain about the life and background of the pseudonymous poet, and many have dissected his works in hopes of discovering his identity, as well as that of his “Most Beloved,” to whom his poems are addressed. 

The poet is generally accepted to be a surfacer dwarf who fought during the Mage-Templar war. The name of “Auheron” comes from an ancient Dwarven morality tale about a low-caste laborer in love with a married noble. While the Auheron of the fable was traditionally considered a great fool whose hopeless love leads them both to embarrassment and ruin, the popularity of Auheron the Poet led to countless reinterpretations of the tale as being a celebration of selfless and pure love. It was very fashionable during the Victorian era for noble ladies to dissemble that they were the object of the poet's affection. Rumor and scholarship have led to theories that everyone from Queen Anora to the Inquisitor were Auheron's secret love.

The Victorian Romantics were influential throughout the era, and were known for a style of writing that utilized free verse and direct language, with many references to faith and the eternal nature of true love.

\- From the preface to “The Romantic Poets, Volume XXIV”


End file.
